I'll Never Tell
by MJJ'slilgrl
Summary: Dodger couldn't stop thinking about the woman and what she had done to him. But he'd never tell. Never... All characters are based on the 1968 musical version of "Oliver!" Please review!
1. Chapter 1

Hi, everyone! This is my very first _Oliver! _story, so if some of the characters are a bit OOC, I apologise in advance. This story is for all the morbid/Dodger fans. I _know_ I'm not the only one! Anyways, on with the story!

I'LL NEVER TELL

Chapter 1.

"SHUT UP! SETTLE DOWN!"

The deafening ruckus that echoed through the ancient house instantly quietened down. As Fagin placed a sizzling-hot pan of sausages on the wooden table, all the boys gathered round to fill their stomachs for a busy day of pick-pocketing ahead. Jack Dawkins, better known as The Artful Dodger, hurriedly washed his face before heading out the door with his good friend, Charley Bates.

Once they reached town, they split up and went separate ways in order to cover more ground. Dodger sidled up beside an old gentleman and pretended to examine the goods outside a local shop. When the man's back was turned, Dodger slyly reached into his pocket and carefully pulled out an expensively made, lined, very heavy wallet. The old gentlemen didn't budge. Dodger grinned and slipped away. As he wandered the streets of London, a hand suddenly tapped him on his right shoulder. He whirled around, and saw a young red-faced, apple-cheeked woman, possibly in her early thirties'. She was plain, not really that pretty, and she looked pale and unhealthy. Dodger stared at her, wondering what she could possibly want with him. She smiled at him; a strange, creepy, almost hungry smile. The smile made Dodger nervous and he started to back away. She took his hand and pulled into the alley she was standing in.

"Would you like to sit with me awhile, young man?" She asked him, with the same creepy smile. Her eyes looked hungry now, as well, and her grip on his hand was starting to hurt.

"No thanks, I 'ave to get goin'," he replied, trying to tug his hand out of her grip.

"Oh, come on!" She answers in a low voice, tugging him even further into the alley, behind some large dustbins. Dodger managed to free his hand from her grip and he stumbled and fell to the ground. He tried to sit up, but the woman pushed him back down so he was lying on his back, and, anticipating his cries for help, covered his mouth with her hand before Dodger could move a muscle.

Dodger had never felt so terrified in his whole life; he had no idea what was going on, or what she was going to do to him.

Still wearing that terrifying, maniacal grin, the woman straddled Dodger's hips. Realizing she would need two hands, she pulled Dodger's large white bow-tie up around his mouth and tightened it, leaving him unable to say a word. Dodger was struggling now. She grabbed his wrists and pinned them to his sides. Dodger was powerless. He kicked his legs frantically, trying in vain to free himself. He did everything that was humanly possible trying to get away. She pinned his hands underneath him, and one of her hands held him down, while the other tugged at the waistband of his corduroy trousers before pulling them down.

Dodger's hazel eyes widened in fear, shock and horror. He started to scream for help behind his gag. He prayed that someone would walk by and see them; but it was getting dark, and they were hidden behind the bins. He screamed even louder when she started to touch him. Tears streamed down the Dodger's face. He squeezed his eyes shut and arched his back, trying to free his hands. But the woman was stronger than she looked. Hearing Dodger's muffled sobs, she reached up and stroked the side of his face.

"Don't cry," she soothed. Dodger cringed away from her touch. She pinned his hands against his sides again and straddled him once more.

Dodger resumed screaming as she raped him over and over again.

His ordeal was over after half an hour. While the woman re-dressed herself and Dodger, he lay on the floor, trembling and crying. As if nothing had happened, she put his bow-tie back around his neck, then smiled, kissed him on the mouth and pinched his cheek as one would do to a baby. She then left, grinning as she exited.

Dodger just lay there, sprawled out on the floor, trembling, panting and crying. After about ten minutes, he finally managed to push himself up on his elbows, wobbling unsteadily. His heart was beating like he had just run a marathon and he was whimpering quietly. His bottom lip trembled as more tears slid down his cheeks. He sat up and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get his crying under control. When the tears had at last stopped, he managed to stand up, wobbling a bit as he did so. Wiping his face clean of tears, he started to head home. His hazel eyes were dull, blank and haunted; his face was expressionless. As he walked home, he tried to understand what just happened; but he couldn't. All he knew is that he would never tell. Who would believe him, anyway? Women didn't do this sort of thing. Besides, if he blabbed, he, Fagin and all the other boys would probably go to jail; he couldn't let that happen. Not to mention, the unbearable pain reliving the experience would cause.

As Dodger's eyes started to cloud with yet more tears, he mentally shook himself.

'_It'll be alright,' _he thought, as he ascended the rickety old stairs that lead to Fagin's home. _'It'll get easier over time.'_ He knocked twice on the door. "Dodger," he called out, and waited for the door to open. When it did, he casually strolled inside, trying to forget that he was over half an hour late. Fagin was pacing up and down the room, waiting for Dodger. When he caught sight of the boy, he grabbed him roughly and shook him by the shoulders.

"Where 'ave you been? We thought the traps 'ad got ya!" Dodger stepped back calmly the moment his shoulders were released, adjusting his previously askew top hat.

"'Course not," he answered breezily, making his way to the table where the other boys sat. "I 'ad to be careful; there was traps prowlin' about." Fagin accepted the excuse, and retreated mumbling into his lair, and Dodger finished supper with the boys, casually brushing off questions they asked him.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This story is going to be very short; three chapters at the most. I think Dodger's breakdown will be in this chapter. I know he's a strong character, but even the strongest characters gotta break down sometimes in my opinion.

BTW, I forgot to put on the first chapter that I accept constructive criticism and I accept reviews. Enjoy chapter two!

I'll Never Tell

Chapter 2

Later that night, Dodger lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the woman; her hungry eyes, that maniacal grin and those rough, grasping fingers. After a couple of hours, he finally managed to drift off into an uneasy sleep, but barely an hour had passed before he was awake again, sitting bolt upright in his bed, sweating and panting. Just before the sun began to rise, Dodger fell asleep again. He didn't wake up when the boys were clamouring for their breakfast. His best friend, Charley Bates, noticed Dodger was still asleep and called Fagin's attention to it.

"'Ey, Fagin, Dodger's still asleep. Want me to wake 'im up?" Fagin looked over at Dodger. The boy's unusually pale face was creased into a frown and he kept tossing and turning like something was bothering him.

"No, leave 'im be. 'E looks a bit peaky." Charley simply nodded and ran out after the boys, carefully closing the door behind him. Fagin locked it and retreated into his lair, most likely to price up all the items the boys had stolen for him last night. As usual, Dodger had brought home the most. Fagin frowned at the still sleeping boy. Something had happened; he was sure of it. Dodger had been strangely quiet the night before; not being his usual cheeky self. Oh, well, he would probably confess when he felt like it. Fagin shrugged and returned to his work.

Dodger awoke a little after noon. He sat in his chair that was placed next to Fagin's and sat there, staring into space. He didn't say anything when Fagin sat down next to him; didn't even acknowledge his presence.

"Is something troubling you, my dear?" he asked quietly. Still staring into space, Dodger shook his head.

"'Course not, Fagin," he answered, making a mental note to act normal from now on. But how could he? Was it really possible to go about with a memory like that? Pushing his disturbing thought out of his mind, Dodger crossed to the table, and started to work on some handkerchiefs.

He was still working when the boys returned, their pockets bulging with valuable items.

"Are you alright, Dodge?" Charley asked, concerned about his friend. Dodger plastered on a fake grin.

"'Course. I'm fine." As the day slowly slipped into the night, The Dodger did his best to forget about his ordeal. Sometimes it worked, but sometimes it didn't.

Over the next couple of days, Dodger went about his normal routine; picking pockets, doing what he usually did. But there was a different side of Dodger that nobody saw. Every time he saw a woman, he ran and hid, terrified of his memories, convinced that they were all out to hurt him. He still couldn't sleep at night, and just lay awake, staring at the ceiling, and on the rare occasions he did fall asleep, he still had nightmares. Nightmare so awful and terrifying he would wake up drenched in sweat, his heart racing and his body shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

Nobody in the old abandoned warehouse suspected anything, as Dodger hadn't changed that much on the outside. While he continued to win at poker, he wasn't as happy as he seemed to be. Even though he was smiling, his disturbing thoughts and memories took over him like a dark cloud when he was least expecting it. And when it did, his entire mood changed. He went from being a cheeky, outgoing boy to someone moody, bitter and depressed.

One warm, foggy day, he was standing in the middle of a street, looking left and right for a good pickpocket victim, when a woman came out of a shop directly in front of him.

"Are you alright, young man? You look a little lost." She said, smiling kindly and holding her arm out towards him. Dodger froze in terror; his eyes widened and he stared up at her in paralyzing fear. As she took a step towards him, he silently begged his feet to move, but they seemed rooted to the spot. The young woman was wearing an almost identical version of the other woman's faded dress. This one was less faded and cleaner, but it still looked the same, nonetheless. This woman looked a lot nicer, but that didn't matter to Dodger.

Dodger finally managed to back away as she moved closer to him.

"Don't look so frightened. I won't hurt you." Those words caused the nearby people surrounding them to stop what they were doing and watched them both. They were greeted with the scene of a terrified-looking boy backing away from a kind-looking woman.

She took one more step closer to him and Dodger started to run.

"Hey! Stop that boy!" Called the woman, and the nearby gentlemen who had been watching the scene started to chase Dodger, calling after him.

Dodger ran as though he was running for his life. He darted in between the crowds, jumping left and right, dashing in front of carts, leaping over unopened crates. But everywhere he looked, he saw his tormentor. Men, women and even children were wearing her dress and they all reached out to him, their fingers curved like claws, hungry eyes widening and grinning evilly. No matter where he looked, he saw her face; the face that had caused him so much pain. Everyone had her face instead of their own! It seemed like the woman was back, only she had multiplied and now she was everywhere!

Dodger grabbed the sides of his head with his hands, yanked at his dark hair and squeezed his eyes shut. With a burst of strength, he took off like a bullet. He ran, although everywhere he turned, the woman was still there, reaching out for him, with that maniacal grin he remembered so well.

Dodger turned round and round, desperately searching for a way to escape, but the woman and her clones were closing in on him, leaving no room for him to move. Everything seemed to be getting darker. In unison, they all slowly reached out towards him. It was terrifying to have men, women and children all out to get you. They had encircled him now; he was trapped. He kept turning, searching for a way out as though his life depended on it. He sunk to his knees, and buried his face in his hands, waiting in despair for the inevitable to happen, and then he saw a gap. Not bothering to wait, he slipped easily through their legs and crawled for a bit before he got back on his feet and started running again, not looking where he was going. He ran straight into somebody and they grabbed him! He looked up, and there was the woman!

"No," he whispered, feeling dread fill his body.

"Calm down," she said. "It's all right." It wasn't really her, just a policeman, but all The Dodger saw was the woman, and he tried to fight back.

"No! No! I won't go with you again! _I won't! _You leave me _alone!"_ Tears streamed down his freckled face as he hit the policeman over and over again, trying to inflict some damage with his small fists, lashing out at every place he could reach, which was a bit difficult, as the trap had a firm grip on both of his upper arms. Dodger continued hitting him and shouting as a murmuring crowd gathered, wondering what was happening.

"I say, officer, have you harmed this young lad before?" Asked a concerned-looking gentleman, politely stepping aside as the woman whom Dodger had ran away from stepped through the crowd.

"No! I've not seen him until today," protested the trap, still holding Dodger. By now, the boy had completely broken down.

"_Please__ don't 'urt me again!"_ He sobbed, collapsing into the trap's stomach and weakly gripping the "woman's" coat lapels. He legs gave way and the trap caught him before the trembling boy hit the floor and he sobbed as the trap picked him up in his arms. The crowd drew back as he carried Dodger to his cart and put him in. Dodger started struggling the minute his grip was released, his hazel eyes now closed, his cheeks soaked with salty tears, so the trap asked his colleague to drive to the police station while he held Dodger.

As they drove away, the crowd started discussing the incident they had just witnessed.

"Poor child," muttered one finely-dressed woman, shaking her head sympathetically.

"Wonder what happened to the lad?"

"He was so traumatised."

The woman had already made up her mind; if the child was an orphan, she would take him in. She had a nice large house, she wasn't rich but she wasn't poor. And if he wasn't, then she would go to visit his family and try to find out what happened.

Just then, a figure darted out from an alleyway and dashed through the London streets. A figure by the name of Charley Bates, who had seen the whole thing.

~ X ~

Dodger sat trembling on the trap's knee, gradually calming down. The trap was holding him tightly and Dodger's head kept going from side to side in a hysterical manner even though he kept his eyes closed. The boy kept murmuring, "please, please don't." They drove through the London streets in silence except for the trap's partner calling to the horse that was pulling the cart, and the occasional snorts of said horse.

As they halted outside a large, dull building, nobody said anything as Dodger was carried into the building and placed on a hard, wooden bench.

"Now, then," said an unknown trap. "What is your name, lad?" Dodger looked down at the ground, not saying a word.

"You don't have to be afraid. We're not going to hurt you," the trap said gently, trying to get the boy to speak. Dodger's eyes remained glued to the floor.

"Are you not going to tell me anything? Where you live? Who looks after you?" When Dodger still refused to speak, the trap's work partner, who was better at speaking to children, stepped in and took over questioning.

"All we want to do is help you," he said, kneeling down so he was level with the boy. "If you tell us what the problem is, it will be so much easier. Why don't you talk to us? You will feel better." Dodger still refused to utter a word. Both the traps sighed in unison. "Isn't there anyone who knows the boy? We certainly can't leave him here."

"I'll send a message out," replied his partner, exiting the room. A few minutes passed before the woman Dodger ran away from entered. He had spent those few minutes keeping his eyes on the ground, not even looking at the traps, who constantly asked him questions. Dodger was starting to feel drowsy; his eyelids drooped and he instantly sat up straight, opening his eyes wide. He spotted something out of the corner of his eye that made his jump and sit up. It was the woman! But, on a double-take, Dodger saw it was just a coat rack.

The sound of echoing, approaching footsteps across the stone floor caused him to look up. It was the kind-looking woman whom he had ran away from. She smiled at him as she swept up to the front desk to talk with the traps. Dodger put his head back down and tuned their voices out. He was so tired; there was nothing more he wanted right at that moment than to go to sleep. He tried to focus on the floor beneath his feet; tried to stop the edges of the stone slates blurring at the corners. Finally, unable to fight the wave of exhaustion that swept over him, his forehead dropped onto his knees and his eyes closed.

"I will gladly take him under my wing. I can assure you nothing will happen to him in my care," the woman, whose name was Mary, promised the two policemen.

"All right, ma'am. We'll be needing to see you about adoption rights of course..."

"I will gladly appear before a magistrate any time he wishes to see me. Come along, dear," she turned her attention to Dodger. She walked over to the sleeping boy and gently shook his shoulder. Dodger's eyes fluttered open and he looked up her. His eyes were red and puffy and his face was flushed and swollen.

"You're coming home with me," she said quietly. Dodger didn't say anything; he simply stood up shakily, not realising fully where he was. He said nothing as Mary walked him to her cart and lifted him in. He knew he had no choice. Dodger still wasn't quite in his right mind and he was resigned to let her do what she would. It was getting dark now, and the darkness made Dodger sleepier.

They halted outside a very nice, large, white brick house. Mary lifted Dodger down from the cart, led him up the front steps and rang the bell. Mary, her mother, her father and her sister lived modestly in the middle-class part of town. They had a cook and a maid, but that was it. The maid answered the door. She raised an eyebrow at Dodger, but said nothing and stood aside to let them in. Mary led Dodger straight upstairs and into a nice, well-lit, fairly large bedroom.

"Margaret, draw a bath, would you?" she asked the maid. "I'll bring some dinner up when he's done, and try and see if you can't find some nightwear for him."

"Yes, ma'am," curtsied Margaret, bustling off into the adjoined bathroom and starting to run a hot bath. Mary sat Dodger on the bed. The boy didn't seem to be able to do anything without being guided in the right direction.

"It's ready, young sir," called Margaret, laying a fluffy, white towel over the towel rack. Dodger didn't move; Mary had left a while ago, presumably to tell her family about the strange, young boy she had brought home. Margaret took him into the bathroom, and, after a bit of discomfort, eventually bathed Dodger and dressed him in a long, white striped nightgown. When they re-entered the bedroom, there was a plate of hot food on the bedside table.

"I'll leave you to your business," said Margaret, excusing herself and closing the door behind her.

Dodger looked at the plate of food; roast potatoes, an assortment of vegetables, all smothered in gravy; it looked very tempting and smelled delicious, but he wouldn't touch it.

He sat down on the bed and gasped in sheer delight at the soft, downy blanket, the fluffy, feathery pillows and the warm, silky sheets. To someone like Dodger, who had spent most of his life sleeping rough and using only thin rags as blankets, this bed seemed like pure heaven.

'_Oh, I really shouldn't,'_ he thought, betraying himself as he lay down on the bed, almost sinking into the midst of fluffy blankets and downy comforters. _'Oh, well. What harm will it do if I just lie down?'_ He pulled the blankets up over his body, enveloping himself in a large warm wad of cotton and fluffy marshmallows. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

~ X ~

A/N: There! BTW, the part where Dodger is running away from Mary, I always imagine it to be a bit like "Snow White" (1937). You know, the beginning where she's in the forest and there are all those close-ups and quick, two-second-long shots. That's what was going through my head when I was writing this, cause things like that get the heart racing. (Well, it did for mine anyway, lol.)

Hope you enjoyed it! Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the reviews Mitchie Love and MeadowLark4491. :) They really made my day! Sorry this took so long!

Chapter 3

Fagin was once again pacing restlessly. But this time it wasn't because he didn't know where his star pickpocket was; no, he knew exactly where he was, he was pacing because he was trying to think of a way to get his star pickpocket back.

"Tell me again, Charley," he said to the boy who was standing in front of him, watching the old man as he paced up and down.

"Dodger was standin' in the middle of the street, when a woman came out of a shop and said somethin' to 'im. 'E looked real scared and started movin' away. She 'eld out 'er arm and 'e started to run. 'E grabbed 'is 'ead and fell on 'is knees. Then, 'e ran straight into a trap, and then 'e just lost it; 'e started 'ittin' the trap, sayin' "I won't go with you." Then 'e started cryin' and said, "please don't 'urt me again." Then the trap picked up Dodge in 'is arms and took 'im away in 'is cart."

The story ha already been told several times, but it still received the same shocked silence it had on its initial reaction.

Fagin resumed pacing and all the boys watched him in silence; it was a very sombre moment.

"We've gotta get 'im back," the old man determined. "I know Dodge wouldn't peach, but we still gotta get 'im back!" Loud shouts and agreements accompanied his short speech.

They all gathered in a huddle and made plans to rescue The Artful Dodger...

~ X ~

When Dodger awoke early the next morning, he just lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't hear anything and decided that everyone else in the house was still asleep. Somebody knocked on the closed door, then opened it. It was Mary, but Dodger didn't see her because he was still looking at the ceiling.

"Ah, I see you're awake," she smiled. Dodger leapt out of bed and pressed himself up against the wall opposite Mary. He made his face go blank and tried not to show any emotions.

"I won't hurt you," she said gently, slowly walking towards him. Dodger pressed himself further into the wall, as though he was trying to disappear into it. Mary took his hand, and Dodger yanked it out of her grip, scowling. Mary sighed and turned to leave.

"Breakfast is downstairs when you're ready," she told him before she closed the door, leaving Dodger alone once more. He crossed the room to the large, white dresser and spied his now-clean clothes neatly folded on top. He quickly pulled them on, casually discarding the nightgown on the floor and giving it a kick for good measure. Turning to the French windows, he pulled back on the gossamer drapes and peered out. He didn't recognise the street he was on, but he was sure he could find his way back to Fagin's. Well, fairly sure. Yes, The Dodger was going to run away. You didn't exactly expect him to stay there, did you? No, sir. He was planning to do it as soon as possible.

Creeping over to the doorm he slowly opened it and cautiously peeked out onto the landing. Nobody there. Tiptoeing down the stairs, he spotted the front door; he was just about to make a run for it, when he heard voices.

"Are you sure?" came the deep voice, most likely Mary's husband or father, Dodger assumed.

"Yes; he said 'please don't hurt me again.' I don't believe it was the officer. I just want to help the boy," the voice belonging to Mary answered.

"Hm. Yes, well, we'll wait for him to come down, then you can ask him. But don't scare the child."

"I won't. I just wish he would speak."

"Most likely the lad's traumatised."

The conversation was between Mary and her father; the whole family had been talking of nothing else almost all night. Mary had relayed the whole episode to them and they were just as puzzled as she was as to what had happened to Dodger.

Dodger decided to make a run for it, even though he had to pass the kitchen, where the family was seated, to get to the front door. Taking a deep breath, he dashed across the hallway, but Mary spotted him before he was halfway to the door.

"Come on in, young man! Your breakfast is getting cold." Dodger then shuffled into the kitchen, having no atlernative and making no eye contact. Mary getstured for him to sit down opposite her. He did so and looked up at the big, burly, broad-shouldered man who was sitting next to him. The man smiled kindly down at him and Dodger sat on the edge of his seat, trying to be prepared. For what, he didn't know.

As a steamy hot plate of eggs, sausages and bacon was placed in front of him, Dodger took on look at it and promptly pushed it away, scowling.

"Are you not hungry? But you must eat," said the man next to him, whom he would later find out was Mary's father, in a soft, yet booming voice. Dodger lowered his eyes to the table and obstinately kept his gaze there.

That was how the rest of his day went; he spent most of it in his room, making plans to escape. Mary's family left him to his business, he gladly noted. They thought that he needed to be alone and that he would open up when he felt like it. Dodger had overheard them talking about going out shopping the next day and he knew they were planning to take him with them. That's when he would run. Smiling to himself for perhaps the first time in a week, Dodger sat down on the bed and barely a few minutes had passed before he was in a deep sleep. He'd never been so grateful for his lack of sleep before.

The next morning, Dodger awoke before anybody else again. He quickly pulled on his clothes, and over them, and brand-new grey suit that had been presented to him yesterday. He had been told to wear it for the outing. If they were to be going into town, then getting back to Fagin's would be easier than he thought. He went downstairs and found Mary was waiting at the bottom for him.

"Why, you look a positive little gentleman!" she beamed. Dodger merely raised an eyebrow at her. Who was she to tell him he looked like a gent? He always did. The Artful Dodger didn't look like a gentleman; he _was_ a gentleman, always had been, always would be. Nothing would ever change that. He felt very offended by her remark. Mary held the door open for him, and Dodger strolled out, rolling his eyes; he could tolerate her silliness for a little while longer.

When they reached town, Dodger started scanning around for anybody he knew, whilst slowly walking behind Mary and her family. They all stopped to examine the goods outside one of the local shops and Dodger took this oppurtunity to start running. He ran and didn't look back, not even when he was certain he had lost them.

Pounding up the stairs towards the warehouse, Dodger hurriedly knocked twice on the door, nervously looking behind him in case Mary's family was following.

"Plummy and slam," he called out, and rushed inside before the door had opened a full foot. Leaving his friend to close and lock the door by himself and leaping up the stairs, Dodger tore his new suit off and threw it in the middle of the floor.

"Dodger! You're back!" cried Fagin, and the boy was instantly surrounded.

"Where've ya been?"

"How'd ya get away?"

"What's been goin' on?"

"Charley saw the 'ole thing!"

"Look, I'm tired," said Dodger, pulling away. "I 'ad 'ardly any sleep in that place, so I'm goin' to bed." And with that, he pushed through the crowd, made his way to his bed and curled up under his blankets. As he turned onto his side and pretended to sleep, he could hear them all talking about him and how they were going to try and get him to reveal what had happened.

"So, we'll do it tomorrow; just flat-out ask 'im. If we keep at 'im, 'e'll eventually tell us." This was followed by murmurs of agreement. Dodger frowned to himself. How was he going to get out of this one? He tried to think of an answer for tomorrow, but he couldn't. What was he supposed to say? Dodger spent most of the night trying to think what he would do.

When the boys awoke the next morning, Charley walked right up to Dodger and boldly asked him the question they were longing to know the answer to.

"What's goin' on, Dodge?"

"Nothin'," he replied stubbornly, shaking his head. Wherever Dodger went, his friends popped up randomly, like daisies, asking him what the matter was. Everytime they asked him, Dodger would give them the same answer over and over: nothing.

Keeping it inside was getting easier; he didn't have nightmares so much anymore and was now actually able to get a full nights' sleep, and it was also getting easier to get to sleep. He hardly thought about it anymore than he could help, which was a lot, but he still relived it every so often. Whenever he did relive it, the experience was so horrible that he'd often cry because he was so scared of it happening again. But, being who he was, The Artful Dodger, he was careful to only let the tears out at night; Fagin and the boys were already suspicious enough. He couldn't tell them; he just couldn't.

One day, just as the sun was setting, Charley cornered Dodger and pinned him to the wall.

"Dodge, why won't ya tell me what's goin' on?" he pleaded. Dodger couldn't. There was so much pain, so much fear. He felt so helpless. Blindly, he shook his head and wrestled away from Charley. While he had been pinned to the wall, it had reminded Dodger of what the woman had done to him and it had taken everything he had not to cry out.

Later that night, Dodger lay awake again, hands behind his head, thinking. They weren't going to stop asking him until he told them. But he'd vowed to never tell and he planned to keep that vow. He just doing a good enough job of acting normal, he thought. He had to start joking around again; being the old Dodger; cool, calm and confident. Every single woman he saw wasn't going to hurt him. Dodger shivered, then sighed; he couldn't even fool himself, and if he couldn't do that, how would he fool the others? He told himself to start smiling again, to not flinch whenever someone brushed his arm or his side. He knew that woman had destroyed him, had turned him into a shell of his former self. But he was determined to move on. He knew he could do it; The Dodger never let anything get him down. He would bounce back. With another sigh, Dodger turned onto his side and closed his eyes. Moving on was going to take a lot of work, but he could do it.

He had to.

The End

It's not really the end. I've written an alternative ending, and if I get enough, I'll post it. Hope you enjoyed reading this chapter!


	4. Alternate EndingChapter 4

Once again, thanks for the reviews! They really make me wanna keep writing!

That was perhaps the shortest story I've ever written; only nine pages long on Microsoft!

Nancy Sikes:, I would put Nancy into the story, but I wrote it in April and it took me all month! I didn't even think to put Nancy in it, so in this version, Bill had killed her but Fagin and the boys are still together and living in the warehouse. I just realised after I finished it that it didn't make sense. Oh, well, it's fanfiction; anything can happen. I think I might bring her back to life for this.

Mitchie Love:, it's not the end remember? This is the alternate ending, or the next chapter. It works both ways, lol.

I still accept constructive criticism, because I need it, lol. I seem to always have trouble with paragraphing for some reason. Anyway, any tips would be greatly appreciated!

Also, Fagin is slightly OOC in this chapter.

_Disclaimer: Surprise, surprise: I'm not Charles Dickens. I own nothing. Except Mary, her family and Dodger's attacker._

Alternate Ending:

Although Dodger had done what he said he would, and had started smiling, laughing and joking around again, Fagin and the gang weren't buying it. They didn't believe him and they knew he was lying when he said he was okay.

Late on night, the boys were seated around the table, playing cards; it was Dodger's turn, but he was just staring over his cards at the table, with a far-off distant look in his eyes. He snapped out of his trance when Charley nudged him, a concerned look crossing his usually carefree and happy face.

"Oh, um... I kinda don't feel like playin' tonight," said Dodger, trying to look casual as he laid down his cards and walked away towards his bed. Now his friends _definitely_ knew something was wrong; Dodger _never_ walked away from a game of poker.

"Dodger." It was Fagin. He patted the chair next to him and Dodger took a seat, genuinely wondering what the old man wanted. The rest of the boys were pretending to carry on with their game, their ears straining to hear the conversation. "What's the matter, my dear?" whispered the elderly man. Dodger's eyes grew large and worried and Fagin saw it.

"Nothin'," he lied. Fagin grabbed him by the shoulders and whirled him around so they were face to face.

"We all know you're lyin'! Somethin' _'as_ 'appened! Why won't ya tell us?"

"N-nothin' 'appened," Dodger stuttered, and this was when Fagin had had enough; he grabbed Dodger under his arms and hauled the boy to his lair. There, he plonked Dodger down on a chair and leaned close to him.

"Right, now, you're not leavin' this room until you tell me what 'appened." Fagin felt awful treating Dodger this way, but he was at his wits' end. Dodger just frowned and gripped the sides of his chair. Fagin calmly sat down next to him and folded his arms.

As the minutes passed, it only grew more tense in the small, damp room. Fagin was slowly losing his patience and Dodger still refused to utter a word. Every so often, one of the boys would pass the door, hoping to hear a piece of the conversation.

"Fagin'll get it out of 'im," predicted Charley, as he sat down with the others.

"Dodger... please tell me," whispered Fagin, trying a different approach. "It'll do ya good to get it off ya chest. And - and maybe I can 'elp ya, if ya just tell me. If ya don't want me to tell the others, then I won't, but just tell me."

Dodger closed his eyes, feeling tears burning up. He couldn't tell; he just couldn't. It was bad enough that he had to live with the memory without recounting it to everybody else, as well. Fagin gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Please?"

"She 'urt me," he whispered, not realising Fagin was listening. "She 'urt me real bad." Suddenly, his eyes shot open and he clamped his hand over his mouth as it dawned on him what he'd just said. He slowly looked up at Fagin, hoping he hadn't heard anything.

"Who, my dear? You can tell me."

"No, I can't!" Dodger hissed, his eyes going wide with fright. "Dont'cha see? I can't tell _anyone!_ I can deal with it on me own!"

"Dodger, you _'ave_ to tell me what 'appened! You can't keep it inside forever!"

"I 'ave to try!" Dodger didn't realise that he was inadvertently giving away his secret. Once again, Fagin grabbed him by the shoulders.

"So 'elp me, Dodger, I'll find out what 'appened if it's the last thing I do!" he yelled, shaking the boy as if he was trying to shake some sense into him.

Dodger took one look at him, eyes wide and pitiful, before bursting into tears.

"I - I can't tell no-one," he sobbed, "c - cause no-one'll believe me. I can't; but - but it's so 'ard!" With that, Fagin lifted the sobbing boy onto his lap and gently rocked him back and forth.

Outside the door, the rest of the boys were listening in shock, eyes wide; Fagin had had gotten the ever-stubborn Artful Dodger to confess. Granted, he hadn't actually told what had happened to him, but he had still admitted that something had happened.

"I can't believe it," whispered Charley.

Meanwhile, Fagin continued rocking a distraught Dodger as he cried in his arms.

"Now then, tell me what 'appened."

"I told 'er no; I didn't like it. I - I wanted 'er to stop..." Dodger was cut off by a fresh wave of tears, while Fagin was trying to piece together what had happened. Dodger hated himself for giving in so easily, but now it seemed he couldn't stop talking about it. "It 'urt so much. I tried to get away, I really tried. Sh - she wouldn't stop, and I..." Dodger said no more and promptly buried his head in Fagin's shoulder, sobbing and shaking.

Fagin carried on rocking him and gradually, Dodger's sobs grew quieter. He held the boy firmly around the arms and waist and Dodger managed to hold Fagin's arm with his free hand, as his other one was by his side. Eventually, Dodger cried himself to sleep in Fagin's arms. He couldn't remember being held like that in his entire life. When he was sure the boy was sound asleep, Fagin carefully stood up and adjusted Dodger in his arms before carrying him over to his bed. He silently motioned for Charley to pull Dodger's blanket back and then he laid the boy down in his bed. Covering Dodger up, Fagin looked at him with a look of sadness in his eyes.

"Tomorrow, leave 'im alone," he said to the boys, turning around and retreating back to his lair. "And keep it down!" he hissed, poking his head out of the doorframe, as hushed whispers and murmurs began to arise. His head disappeared once more when there was silence throughout the warehouse. Nobody knew quite what to say to one another; The Artful Dodger had actually broken down in tears and had cried himself to sleep sitting on Fagin's lap.

"This musta been worse than we thought," whispered Charley, glancing over at the sleeping Dodger. The other boys nodded in agreement. Quietly, so as not to annoy Fagin or disrupt Dodger, they decided that they would talk it over in the morning. One by one, every boy went to bed, each head filled with the same thoughts; about Dodger and what he had said to Fagin. He hadn't been exactly quiet and the boys had heard every word.

Dodger didn't wake up with the ohters the next morning, and the boys had been told by Fagin to let him sleep. They discussed the previous nights' incident with one another as they strolled into town before they split up.

"So, 'e definitely said 'she'?"

"Yeah, 'e said '_she_ 'urt me.'"

"Yeah, but, 'ow could a _woman_ do somethin' like that? Someone would've seen 'em."

"What did she even do?" This question recieved only silence as an answer, for nobody could think what the answer was. What would a woman be capable of doing? How could a woman elevate so much fear into somebody like Dodger? They feared they would never know the answers to these questions.

Meanwhile, Dodger stayed at home with Fagin, who was desperate to find out the rest of Dodger's secret, but he was afraid of pushing the boy and making him clam up. Dodger kept his head down when he woke up; he was embarrased and ashamed at having revealed his secret. He was sure Fagin didn't believe him. He was also ashamed for crying in front of Fagin. After all, he The Artful Dodger; he never cried. He said nothing as he worked on some handkerchiefs, aware that Fagin was watching him.

"Dodger?" said Fagin hesitantly, unable to stand the silence any longer. Dodger kept his head down. "Do you wanna tell me the rest?" Dodger simply stared up at him.

"Why?" he asked cautiously.

"Because I wanna 'elp." Dodger merely scoffed. Help. How could anybody help? Unless they could turn back time, he wasn't interested. "I really do," the old man insisted.

"You couldn't. Nobody can," Dodger mumbled, still not looking up from his work.

"We can try. If ya just tell me."

"Fagin, just..." Dodger sighed, leaving his sentence unfinished. "Just leave it, nothin' will 'elp." Fagin looked at Dodger; it wasn't like him to give up.

"Dodge..."

"I don't wanna talk about it. Besides, you don't believe me, and I can 'andle it fine on me own."

"Like the way you did when you ran away from that woman?" Fagin asked slyly. Dodger's eyes widened. How did he know about that? "Charley saw the 'ole thing," he added, as if reading Dodger's mind. "And I _do_ believe you."

Dodger rolled his eyes. "Why would ya? I wouldn't believe it meself if it 'adn't 'appened to me. I still find it 'ard to believe now."

"Well, wouldn't it be a lot more believable if you told me what she did?"

"No. I can't."

"_Why?_" Fagin knew he was probably annoying Dodger, but he didn't care. He had to know, and he was determined to find out. Once he knew, everything would be so much easier. Dodger lowered his eyes to the floor, unable to answer. He heard his voice speak out to Fagin, even though he didn't want to. It was like he couldn't control what he was saying.

"The - the memories. I just wanna forget."

"Dodger, you oughta know by now that ya don't forget things like these," Fagin was trying to say the right words, but he didn't know what he was saying the words for and he hoped Dodger would understand if he said the wrong thing. Dodger looked up at him, a determined look in his hazel eyes.

"I 'ave to try."

"Dodger, just tell me."

"No; I'll never tell."

"Dodge, you know we're just gonna keep at ya until ya tell us." Dodger thought about this. It was true; he hadn't gotten a moment's peace since he escaped from Mary's house. He took a deep breath.

"If I tell ya, will ya promise to leave me alone after? And to not tell anyone else?"

"You 'ave my word," said Fagin solemnly, holding up his right hand and crossing his left one over his heart.

Dodger took another deep breath. "I was comin' 'ome, when this woman tapped me shoulder.. She asked if I wanted to sit with 'er, and I said no..." Dodger paused. "She grabbed me 'and and pulled me into the alley. I got me 'and away and I fell over..." Dodger suddenly stopped as if paralyzed. "No! No! I can't say any more!"

Fagin was pretty certain now that he could guess what Dodger had been through, but he continued to question the boy, just in case he was wrong. "Continue, my dear," he said, sounding much calmer than he felt.

"No," The Dodger whispered. "I can't."

"Come on, Dodge," Fagin bent down so he was level with the boy.

"No! You don't know 'ow 'ard it is! You don't know what I'm goin' through!"

"I will if ya just tell me!"

"But I can't!" Dodger was standing now, clearly distraught. His eyes were watering and there was a pained expression on his face. Fagin stood up as well, towering over Dodger.

"You _need_ to talk about it. Keepin' it inside won't do ya no good."

"I know; but it's - you don't know what it's like."

"That don't matter; just tell me."

"No."

"Tell me!"

"No!"

"Tell me now."

"No!"

"_Dodger, you tell me right now!"_

"Shetouchedme!" Dodger's words came out quick and jumbled. He hadn't realised he said until after the words had left his mouth. He closed his eyes and hung his head in shame.

"_What?!_" Fagin's eyes were blazing; he looked madder than Bill when Nancy disobeyed him. The look on his face scared Dodger a little; couldn't remember Fagin ever being this angry at anything before.

"You 'ave to believe me! It's the truth, I tell ya!" Dodger didn't think he would be able to handle it if Fagin didn't believe him, after he had done everything he could to get the boy to confess. Dodger briefly forgot that he had been pressured into confessing as he stared up at the elderly man towering above him.

"Dodger, I _do_ believe you. I just can't believe _'er_." Clearing his throat nevously, Dodger continued to look at Fagin. The relief of being believed had given him newfound strength.

"She - she didn't _just_, well, you know, do _that_. She did summat else as well."

"What else did she do?"

"I... don't know. All I know is it 'urt and I didn't like it," once again, Dodger hung his head. Now it was Fagin's turn to look at Dodger. He bent down and leaned close to the boy's ear.

"Did she...?" He whispered the rest into Dodger's ear, while his eyes grew wide as he heard what Fagin was telling him.

"Yes! It was _'orrible!_"

Fagin sighed; now they were one step closer to healing the mentally wounded Dodger. He knew what had happened. The boys were going to be so eager to know what Dodger had said, but Dodger had sworn Fagin to secrecy. Fagin was going to have to figure out a way to keep Dodger's secret and get the boys to stop pestering him without giving it away. Dodger was now looking around the warehouse awkwardly; he felt uneasy now that Fagin knew.

"Well, all I gotta say is, thanks for tellin' me, Dodge. Now don't ya feel better?"

"No; I still feel the same. A bit worse, I think," Dodger frowned.

"Those feelin's go away in time. And now that you've told me, I can 'elp."

"'Ow can you 'elp?"

"Talkin' about it can 'elp and I can 'elp ya confront ya fears."

Dodger sighed. It would be good to be able to walk down the London streets without constantly looking behind him for fear of getting attacked. He felt as though he was walking in eggshells; one false move and everything would break. He was too afraid to even look at a woman. He thought that if he did, then history would repeat itself all over again. How would he be able to get over that? _Could_ Fagin help him? Maybe he could. And Fagin did say that he believed him. Maybe he was right about this, too. "Okay," he nodded.

A small smiled tugged at the corners of Fagin's mouth. "First things first, my dear; you need to understand that not all women are like 'er. In fact, most of 'em are quite nice."

"Why do I find that 'ard to believe?" Dodger mumbled.

"You thought they were okay before this 'ole thing 'appened, didn't ya?"

"Well... yeah," Dodger admitted.

"So, you need to get over your fear."

"Well, 'ow do I do that?"

"It will take quite a while, my dear."

Dodger opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, there came to loud knocks at the door.

"Plummy and slam," a voice called out and Fagin leapt up to unlock the door. Dodger remained in his seat, eyes now fixed to the floor. Fagin said he could help, that he would get over this and that all women weren't like his attacker. But Dodger didn't think he could ever trust another woman ever again; he had never paid attention to them before the whole incident occurred. Now, when he went out, it seemed they were everywhere. If a complete stranger could brutalise him like that, imagine what somebody he knew could do to him. Would Nancy ever be capable of doing something like that? Or Bet? Dodger couldn't imagine those two doing what his attacker did, but now, he wasn't so sure. Nancy and Bet hadn't visited for quite a while now, and for the first time, Dodger was glad to not have to see them.

"So, what did 'e tell ya, Fagin?" asked Charley quietly, helping Fagin to lock the door. The old man paused slightly before answering.

"'E said that - on the way 'ome that day, this woman was followin' 'im. She grabbed 'im and 'eld 'im over London Bridge. 'E struggled and she very nearly dropped 'im. Then, she pulled 'im back over and said she'd been forced to do it by 'er 'usband. Then, she let 'im go."

"Oh," was all Charley found he could say; there were no words to express his emotions. He slowly started to walk away and Fagin put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to stop.

"Don't let on ya know, will ya?" Charley simply shook his head and carried on his way, most likely to find his pipe, which seemed to be permanently stuck between his teeth whenever he was home. Fagin resumed his seat next to Dodger.

"What did ya tell 'im?" Fagin smiled and recounted the lie to Dodger, who smiled back after hearing it. "'Ow did 'e take it?"

"Pretty bad; imagine what 'e'd be like if 'e knew the truth." Dodger's eyes widened.

"No, no you can't; you _promised_."

"And I'll keep that promise, you can be sure of that, my dear."

There was no time to say anything more as there was yet another knock at the door and almost all of the boys swept in when it had been opened. Dodger was glad of their rowdiness tonight; it meant he wouldn't have to think, and that no-one would ask him questions. Fagin and Charley had told the rest of the boys the lie, as well as to leave Dodger alone and not mention it. Once again, Dodger backed out of playing poker with the boys, opting for another early night. An early night would give him time to start healing now that he had an idea of what to do. Fagin had said it would take a while, but Dodger was prepared to do anything to get the alarming thoughts and distressing images out of his head. He just wished he could forget all about it, but, no matter how hard he hoped, he knew he wouldn't ever forget. The thought and memories would always be with him, he knew that now. He also knew that the best thing he could do would be to move on with his life After all, he had Fagin, and Fagin had promised to do all he could to help.

When Dodger woke up the next morning, he felt better than he had in ages.

_'Fagin was right,'_ he realised, _'talkin' about it did 'elp.'_

"'Ey, Dodge, you comin' on the game today?" asked Charley, moving over so Dodger could sit down.

"'Course. Wouldn't miss it," Dodger beamed. Charley grinned at his friend. That private talk with Fagin had done Dodger a world of good; he was smiling again, this time they were genuine smiles. He was making jokes and teasing Fagin. And none of it was forced. That was probably the most wonderful thing of all.

As Dodger slipped out onto the streets, eyeing the stalls, looking for pickpocket victims, he grinned, content with his life. He was finally moving on, not completely free but he was happy.

The End.

Whew! There we go! This chappie was 6 pages long on Microsoft! Hope this was satisfactory for all my readers and thanks to everyone who reviewed!


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